~ Nay ♡

I wish Allah could sit next to me and tell me what I can do.

I should be asleep right now but my brain loves returns. Tonight it has decided to replay every decision i’m unsure about and every question i still don’t have an answer to. very convenient you may say.

But like most nights, eventually my thought find their way back to Allah

oh allah. forgive me.

forgive me for taking so long to come talk to you. forgive me for carrying so much inside of me and trying to deal with it on my own, when I know and I am sure that I have no one but you to talk to. I keep so much to myself because sometimes i don’t even know how to put it into words but i don’t have to explain myself to you. And I hide from many people all that I am in all that I feel. But i can’t hide anything from you because you are are Al-Khabir (the all aware). Al Fahis the examiner of the hearts, nothing can be hidden from you.

oh Allah. I am lost and scared. I’m very scared. Through this i ask of one thing. I’m not asking to know everything that is going to happen. just a request for you to guide me in making the right decisions. oh Allah grant me strength to guard my gaze and to walk away from anything that is pulling me further from you. All praise and gratitude to you my lord.

and thats when it hit me.

I kept asking Allah to tell me what to do, waiting for an answer to come in a way i could recognize. All while long before i knew the questions i would bring to him, he had already given me something to return to. i just had to recognize myself in them.

he gave me Yusuf for when family became my biggest heartbreak.

Surah Al-Kahf for when I needed to learn that sometimes loss is Allah’s mercy.

Surah Al-A’raf for when my heart became filled with pride.

Surah As-Saffat for when I kept holding onto something I needed to let go of.

Surah Al-Anbiya for when I felt alone.

Surah Al-Qasas for when I needed to understand that sometimes you have to leave what is familiar to find peace.

Surah Hud for when I had to learn that I can’t guide everyone I love.

And Surah Taha for when I felt like my mistakes made me a failure.

I spent all this time wishing Allah could sit next to me, but he was never the one who was far away. i was. he had given me his words. he had given me somewhere to turn with every heartbreak, every loss, every mistake, every fear. before i even knew the questions I would one day ask. he had already left me guidance for them.

And still, I wondered where he was.

sorry for the short/unfinished ending, i started getting tired. very on brand considering how this started.

may Allah make His guidance clear to our hearts <3

~ Nay ♡

Some nights i realize how much I’ve changed and how unfamiliar I’ve become to myself. I wouldn’t say It happen suddenly but quietly through small compromises, through learning how to fit in, how to be easier, how to survive. Somewhere in that process i lost clarity of who i used to be.

I adapt without thinking, shifting, depending on who I’m with, until i’m no longer sure which parts are truly mine. When I’m alone i miss a version of myself I can’t fully remember, only the feeling of being whole. Still learning to sit with the uncertainty.

And I think along the way the ability to observe yourself becomes the very thing that slowly destroys your peace. But no one warns you that the more aware you are… the more you start turning on yourself.

That’s the cruelty of toxic self-awareness. you become so conscious of everything that could go wrong that you stop yourself from everything that could go right. It is exhausting being both the person trying to live your life and the person standing over her shoulder analyzing how she’s doing it.

And then there’s the loneliness that comes with all of it. You feel isolated inside your own head, regardless of how many people you have by your side. Convinced that no one could truly understands what you’re going through. You’re already dealing with so much on your own, but you still hold back because the last thing you want is to make the people you love feel like they have to carry it too.

We understand physical pain because it makes itself known. A fever shows up with temperature, a wound bleeds, a headache starts pounding. There is evidence that comes with it.

But there’s something cruel about pain that doesn’t leave no visible mark. Nothing you can point to and say, look, this is where it hurts.

How do you explain being exhausted by a mind you cannot step outside of? How do you rest when the very place you go to seek refuge, your own head, is the same place causing all the noise? There is no taking a day off from yourself. So you learn to exist alongside it. You get dressed, go to work, laugh at the right moments, hold conversations, and carry on while something inside of you is quietly unraveling.

Perhaps that is the loneliest part of invisible suffering. the world often mistakes your ability to function for your ability to be okay. And the two, I’ve learned, are not the same.

Maybe the point is that healing isn’t linear. It's such a frustratingly simple truth that I can’t digest. it isn’t a poetic truth. it’s quite ugly to hear that I will always carry traces of things I’ve tried to shed everywhere I go. it isn’t comforting to know laughter and tears can only exist together. today might be terrible and tomorrow might be beautiful, and how hard it is to never know which one I’ll get.

I’m pretty sad for someone who thought she was content. but the truth is, I am content. I think the harder truth is that I’m not sure if it’s enough.

I want to be more than content and more than fine. I want to be quiet. I want to wake up and not feel nauseous, not have my head filled with noise, not feel so sad. I want peace.

This is not a cry for help. Writing has always been one of the ways I make sense of what’s going on in my head, especially on the days when my thoughts feel too loud and keeping everything in feels heavier than just writing it down.

I suppose I did pour some of it out after all. And maybe reading this if you recognize pieces of yourself too. Just remember:

لَا يُكَلِّفُ ٱللَّهُ نَفْسًا إِلَّا وُسْعَهَا

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.” — Qur’an 2:286

Keep me in your duas. love you all. ♡

And I think that could be why I write, in hopes to discover myself and the answers to a series of questions that keep me awake at night.

Questions like … why do we spend so much time of our lives trying not to get hurt?

I don’t think we are here to protect our hearts. I think we are here to use them. I suppose I like to think about it like this: feeling deeply isn’t a weakness but rather one of our greatest gifts. Because what a privilege it is to care this much.

Maybe that’s why I admire the way young people feel. They feel things on such an intensely detailed level. There is attention to detail in everything, your longing, your reaching, your grasping, but never holding. You can’t understand why you spend all day thinking about it, why you notice everything. It’s everything that makes the mythology of those intense feelings you have.

To have your heart broken and somehow never letting it harden you.

You laugh and cry in your bedroom with your friends until you forget what was hurting.

To feel completely lost and trust that you will find your way back.

The last three years, I lost myself trying to fit into a version of my life that only existed in my head. A version built on what I thought people expected of me, how I thought I should be seen, and who I thought I had to become.

I was trying to be enough for everyone around me... and somehow, I still wasn’t enough for myself. But somewhere along the way I realized I just needed to stop abandoning myself. Life gave me every reason to become cynical.

But I’d rather keep loving, keep hoping, keep believing there’s still beauty waiting on the other side. Not because life hasn’t hurt me, because it has. But because I never want to lose the part of me that still believes it’s all worth it.

There’s a reason I love The Rule of Quest Physics. It goes something like this:

“If you’re brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting which can be anything from your house to bitter old resentments and set out on a truth-seeking journey, either externally or internally, and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared, most of all, to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then the truth will not be withheld from you.”

I’ve learned that everything is temporary. Moments. Emotions. People… Like flowers. I’ve learned that love is giving. Giving everything. And accepting that it can also destroy. I’ve learned that vulnerability is always the right choice, because it’s easy to stay cold in a world that makes it so hard to stay gentle. I’ve learned that everything comes in pairs: life and death, pain and joy, salt and sugar, you and me. It’s the balance of the universe.

We must learn to focus on what is going well, on what we have. And on the people we love. To fully immerse ourselves in it, to become better people for the world.

And maybe that’s why I don’t think we are here to protect our hearts. I think we are here to use them.

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And I think a part of that… comes from her.

I remember my mom telling me one day, almost casually, “Don’t live the life I lived. Go see the world. Don’t rely on a man the way I did.” But it didn’t feel casual. It felt like her words were carrying years she never got back. Dreams she had to quietly let go of. A life she learned to survive… instead of choosing. And when I looked at her, I didn’t just see my mom.

I saw a woman who had to be strong before she was ready. I saw a woman who gave more than she ever received. I saw a woman who continued on... even when her life did not go as she had wanted it to go. But still, she wanted more for me.

That’s what stays with me.

Because a lot of us come from women like that. Women who gave us everything. Women who stayed when it was hard. Women who built lives out of what they had… not what they deserved. And now we’re here. With choices they didn’t have. With doors they never got to walk through.

And sometimes that feels heavy. Because when life gets hard, when I hit moments where I feel stuck, lost, or tired…I think about her. And I remind myself, I can’t stop here. Not because I’m pressured to be perfect. But because I carry her story with me.

That’s my why.

That’s what keeps me going when I feel like giving up. When things don’t make sense.
When I feel like I’m starting from zero again. I owe it to her… to at least try.

So when someone asks me,

“Do you really think you could build something big? That fast?”

My answer will always be the same.

Yeah.

Not because I have it all figured out. Not because I know exactly how it’s going to happen. But because I come from a woman who prayed for a life bigger than the one she was given.

And everything I’m becoming… is an answer to that.

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The experience of being in your twenties is like being right in the middle of your life with no directions whatsoever. You’re old enough to know better, but still young enough to be confused. Too grown to feel lost, yet somehow lost anyway.

Chances are everybody around you knows you are “figuring it out” but it is confusing to figure it out. Some days, I wake up feeling like I understand myself. I have goals. Direction. A version of me I’m proud of. Other days, I feel overwhelmed by things that shouldn’t feel this heavy. Messages sit unanswered. Plans feel like obligations. Even explaining how I’m doing feels exhausting, because the truth is… I don’t fully know.

And I think that’s the hardest part of your twenties to admit that you can be growing and unraveling at the same time.

Lately, I’ve been unraveling quietly.

Not in a dramatic way. Nothing big happened. No singular heartbreak to point to. Just a slow dimming. A heaviness without a name. A feeling that made me pull back instead of reaching out.

I stopped replying the way I used to.
Stopped showing up fully.
Stopped writing even though writing has always been where I make sense of myself.

I didn’t disappear because I didn’t care.
I disappeared because I didn’t know how to show up as someone unfinished.

There is this strange feeling of guilt when one is in their twenties. You feel like you should be grateful. Like you should be excited. Like you should have more clarity by now.

But burnout in your twenties doesn’t always look like exhaustion.
Sometimes it looks like numbness.
Like motivation without movement.
Like wanting to create but feeling blank.
Like scrolling endlessly and wondering why nothing feels inspiring anymore.

It’s realizing that you’re tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.

There’s also this quiet yearning inside me to figure out who Naima really is, and what she truly wants. Not who I’ve been trying to be. Not who I feel pressured to become. Just me, beneath all of it.

But when you can’t understand yourself, it’s easier to remain quiet rather than explain yourself. Because you tell yourself that you will come back when you are better, when you are clearer, when you have the proper words at last.

But clarity doesn’t arrive on a schedule.
So the silence stretches.

And in that silence, you start questioning yourself. Am I lazy? Am I ungrateful? Am I falling behind? Why is it that everyone around me seems to be moving forward and I’m stuck in one place?

What people may not say enough is that it’s not a time of arrival in your twenties but rather a process of letting go. Letting go of who you no longer are. Letting go of dreams you never knew you had. Learning that some growth is meant to be nurtured quietly, not announced out loud.

I’m learning that disappearing wasn’t failure.
It was survival.

It was me choosing to pause instead of completely breaking. Choosing honesty with myself, even when I didn’t know how to be honest with anyone else yet.

To the version of me who went quiet because she didn’t have the strength to explain. I forgive you. You were doing the best you could with what you understood at the time.

I’m still figuring it out.
Still becoming.
Still learning who I am beneath the pressure to have it all together.

This isn’t a comeback.
It’s a check in.

And for now, that’s enough.

I guess this is 20.

There’s a moment that hits you in the silence. When you start to notice that the people in your life don't represent who you're growing into. Something feels strange in the back of your mind, even though you laugh, hang out, and send each other reels. You're dreaming of growth, discipline, and purpose. But they don't mind being stuck. And you begin to feel like you're losing yourself to keep them close, no matter how much you love them.

It’s hard. Nobody discusses the heartache of outgrowing the people you once called home. However, the reality is that your friends reflect the person you become. They reveal who you were before, who you are now, and occasionally who you no longer wish to be.

You will be more motivated to pursue your goals if your friends have high aspirations. If they’re lazy, you’ll feel guilty for wanting more. If they’re growing, you'll be inspired to grow too. And if they’re stagnant, your fire slowly dims to match the room.

That’s why I’ve been learning to be selective. Painfully, intentionally selective. It’s not about being better than anyone, it’s about being better for myself. I want friends who nourish my heart, not drain it. People who celebrate growth, not mock it. People who challenge me to show up as the highest version of myself even when that version feels far away.

And until I find those people? I’m learning to be my own friend first. I sit with myself. I cheer myself on. I hold myself accountable. Because the version of me I want to become… she deserves a circle that reflects her, not resents her.

You’ve probably heard this before, but I want you to really sit with it

“You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with” Jim Rohn

So ask yourself: Who do my friends make me? What version of me do they bring out?Do I feel lighter or heavier after spending time with them?

Don’t be afraid to walk alone for a while. Loneliness in growth is better than company in stagnation. Be okay with letting go of people who aren’t growing with you. You owe yourself that much. You really do.

So here’s your reminder: Be selective with your circle. Protect your energy. And most importantly, choose people who allow you to step into the versions of yourself you’ve been praying to become.

You’re not being distant. You’re being intentional.
And that’s not selfish, it’s survival.
Because the future you deserves a life that feels like alignment, not attachment.
So ask yourself one last time:
Who do I become when I’m with them?
And is that someone I want to stay?

And then it hit me: it’s not the world I’m fighting. It’s me.

It’s the quiet thought in my head that says, “Maybe you’re not ready for it yet.”
It’s the guilt the creeps in for resting, for slowing down, for putting myself first.
It’s the anxiety that shows up when I’m not constantly working or achieving something.
It’s the deep rooted fear that if I try and fail, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

I used to tell people I struggled with “discipline,” but that wasn’t really it. What I struggled with was permission. Permission to take up space, to be seen, to let myself live without feeling like I constantly have to earn it. Even now, I still catch myself doing it. I’ll make a list of goals and feel inspired for a moment, only to end the night talking myself out of it before I’ve even begun. I’ll get an idea, and before I can breathe life into it, I’ve already dissected every possible way it could go wrong. I don’t even give myself a chance. And that’s what hurts the most.

There are so many things I’ve slip through my hands, not because I wasn’t capable, but because I was scared. Scared of becoming someone bigger than the version of me I’ve always been. Scared of showing up and not being enough. Scared of finally betting on myself… and losing.

But the truth? No one has stopped me more than I’ve stopped myself. Not a friend. Not a stranger. Not the algorithm. Not the lack of time. Just me battling my own mind every day. And once you realize that, it changes everything. Because if you’re the one in your way, you can also be the one to set yourself free.

I’ve been slowly learning that growth isn’t about proving anything to anyone. It’s about becoming the kind of woman your younger self would look at and be proud of. Not the one who has it all together or gets everything right, but the kind who tries. Who chooses herself even when it’s uncomfortable. Who gives herself grace when she falls behind. Who stops playing small just to make others feel more comfortable.

This season of my life feels different. I don’t want to be in this cycle anymore. I don’t want to keep repeating the same setbacks excited, burned out, discouraged, repeat. I’m tired of being the one who holding myself back.

It’s you vs. you. That’s the real battle. Not with time, not with the world or people, but with the part of yourself that’s afraid of everything you are capable of becoming.

So if you’re in this place too, if you find yourself constantly standing in your own way, I hope you start showing up for yourself. Not in a perfect, all or nothing way. But little by little. Choice by choice. Day by day. Because you’re not fighting for your ego. You’re fighting for your peace, your joy, your freedom.

And the version of you on the other side of fear?
She’s waiting.
You just have to stop talking yourself out of becoming her.

- With Love, Naima Musa

I’ve been feeling it more lately.
The pressure to move a certain way, post a certain way, live a certain way.
To make sure nothing I do gets taken the wrong way.
But no matter how careful I am, someone will always have something to say.

I’ve been learning to let go of the urge to defend my softness, my silence, my shifts.
If they think I’ve changed, maybe I have.
If they don’t understand, maybe they’re not meant to.
If they talk, they’ll talk anyway.

It’s hard, though.
Because deep down, I want to be seen for who I really am.
Not the version people create in their heads.
Not the one filtered through assumptions or half known stories.
Just… me.

But the truth is, no matter how careful you are,
people will still see you through the lens of their own experiences.
Their insecurities. Their expectations.
And that has nothing to do with you.

So let them.
Let them think what they want.

You don’t owe everyone an explanation.
You don’t have to keep shrinking just to make others comfortable.
You don’t have to keep proving yourself to people who already decided who you are.

Some things are too sacred to explain.
Some growth is too personal to perform.
And some peace is only found in the quiet decision to protect your energy over your image.

So if they misunderstood you, let them.
If they underestimated you, let them.

Because if you spend your life constantly trying to be understood
you’ll forget how to actually be yourself.

“If they don’t support you, let them judge you. If they walk away, let them leave. Let them talk. Let them misunderstand. Just… let them.” — The Let Them Theory

And I don’t want to lose myself trying to hold onto people or perceptions that were never mine to manage.
I don’t want that.
Not for me.
Not for you either..

- Naima Musa

It’s not that you don’t care.
You do.
You care so much it aches.

You want to be consistent. You want to stay on top of your routines, your habits, your healing. You want to feel like you’re actually getting somewhere.

But then life happens. You get overwhelmed. You forget why you started. And suddenly the version of you that felt so aligned, so motivated … she slips away again.

And you’re back at the start.

There’s a certain kind of heartbreak that comes with disappointing yourself.
Not because you’ve failed in any big way, but because it feels like you’re stuck in a cycle you thought you’d outgrown

And sometimes, it’s not even sadness, just fatigue.
You get tired of restarting. Tired of the high hopes. Tired of wondering if you’ll ever actually follow through.

You think, “Why can’t I just stick to the things I know are good for me?”

I am there right now

And here’s what I want to tell you.
Starting over isn’t weakness.
It’s not a lack of discipline.
It’s not proof that you’re broken.

It’s evidence that you haven’t given up.

Maybe you’re learning to rebuild without forcing things. Maybe you’re starting to understand that progress looks different depending on the season you’re in.
Maybe the loop you’re stuck in isn’t punishment, maybe it’s showing you how to meet yourself where you are, not where you wish you were.

And maybe you’re not behind at all.
Maybe this is just part of becoming.

We don’t talk enough about how hard it is to start again.
How it feels to be be your own reason to keep going
To whisper to yourself, “just one more step,” when everything inside you wants to quit.

But I see you.
And I know how much strength it takes to keep trying; even when you’re tired of your own patterns.

So if this is another beginning, let it be a kind one.
Don’t rush. Don’t punish yourself for the pauses.
Just take the next right step. That’s it.

And if it doesn’t go the way you hoped, we try again.

Because the story isn’t over.
And you’re not done becoming.

You’re still worthy. Still growing.
Still allowed to start again.

With love,
The version of me who’s learning, too. 🤍

To the version of me I keep tucked away.

The one who dreams out loud, who walks in a room with quiet confidence, who doesn’t shrink herself to fit the comfort of other, this is for you.

I think about you often.

When I hesitate before speaking.

When I doubt if I’m doing enough.

When I settle for less than what I know I want.

You show up in flashes, when I imagine what life could look like if I stopped holding myslef back. If I didn’t second guess every version of “too much” I’ve been warned about

You’re bold, but not careless.

You’re soft, but not small.

You’re honest, even when it’s uncomfortable. You’re everything I’ve been told to tone down or wait for the right time to become.

The truth is - I fear you

Because steeping into you means letting go of who I’ve pretended to be. It means taking up space. It means giving myself permission to grow without needing anyone else’s approval.

But I want you to know…

I’m working my way toward you.

With every boundary I set.

With every time I say no and don’t apologize for it.

With every moment I choose faith over fear.

I’m not all the way there yet, but I see you. And I think I’m finally starting to believe I’m allowed to become you.

Until we meet fully

- Naima Musa

To the girl still finding her way:

this is your reminder that slow growth is still growth.

Some days you’ll feel like you’re blooming, full of energy and hope.

Other days you’ll wonder if you’re even moving at all.

Both are part of the journey and both are valid.

You are allowed to be a work in progress and still be deeply loved by Allah. You are allowed to start over, even if you thought you’d be further by now. You are allowed to grow in secret, unseen by the world but fully known by the One who matters.

Don’t rush yourself. Don’t belittle the quiet wins. The one prayer you made on time when it felt impossible, the one moment you chose patience when you could have snapped, the one day you got out of bed and showed up even when your heart was heavy.

These are mountains in the unseen world.

Growth isn’t loud. It’s the silent way your heart keeps choosing to try again. It’s the way you hold onto hope even when nothing around you seems to change. It’s the trust you place in god’s timing over your own.

So keep going.

You’re growing, even now, even here.

And I pray that you never forget that Allah sees every little effort you make.

With love and du’a

Naima Musa